Pushing Loki (Series)
by toavengeme
Summary: The facts are these: Charlotte Charles was 27 years, 26 weeks, 346 days, and 45 hours when Ned first let her drive his car. Loki Odinson was 1210 years, 32 weeks, 197 days, and 19 hours old when Charlotte Charles acquainted him with Ned's car. The Pie Ho gangs' lives did not take long to change after that.
1. Princelette

**A/N -** The facts are also these: Loki's storyline picks up post Thor; The Dark World and The Pushing Daisies storyline picks up post S2E6 (after Chuck "talked" to Lily through Olive roleplaying for her, Ned met his twin brothers, and Dwight Dixon found Charlotte's grave empty).

Though keeping up with the story would be easier for those who have watched the show up to that episode, everything will be explained in future parts, because Loki is just as new to the gang as you might be :)

 **Watch** "Pushing Daisies" for free here: www. cwseed shows /pushing-daisies/. You won't regret it!

* * *

Charlotte Charles was 17 years, 3 weeks, 29 days and 9 hours old when her Aunts Lily and Vivian Charles handed her the automobile keys for her first driving lesson. So eager was she to please that she shifted the gear to reverse rather than drive.

With her first toe's first touch on the accelerator, she became the instigator to break down her aunts' walls.

Thus dear Charlotte Charles never collected her bearings to try again. With her bees and honey she helped pay off the repairs to their home, but Aunt Lily, unbeknownst to young Chuck, handed the money to conspiring neighbors, who in turn continued to buy Chuck's honey.

Nonetheless, Charlotte Charles had a nagging sensation that her first times for anything would end in misfortune.

She was not wrong.

It is 10 years, 26 weeks, 19 days, and 15 hours later, heretofore known as now, that the young Chuck who grew up has forgotten that unfortunate fact.

In the twilight streets of the Pie Maker's city and her own new home flew a Mercedes as dark as the skies above. Trunk filled with last minute groceries and front passenger seats with two souls, it swallowed the ground underneath without another care in the world, but one passenger would rather it stop.

"Ned, hush your pretty mouth before I break through this plastic divider and scoop your voice out with my nails."

"No, no, no, speed limit's 30 and you're going 37... Right wheels are an inch and a half over the next lane and don't attack my vocal chords I need them to talk you out of your breakdowns."

"Ned, I swear—"

"I gave you too much power too soon and you're going insane with it. Chuck I'm so sorry for pummeling you so fast with so much responsibility. Just pull over I'll drive us home nice and safe."

"Keep nagging and I'll be doing the pummeling."

"Unless 33 MPH beats us to the punch."

"NED—"

"Chuck."

"I will not—"

"RightnowRightnowRightnow... I can't have you killing anyone because I let you eat way too much ice cream with your triple berry."

"Since when is ice cream a DUI cause?"

"Since I stopped using Splenda—CHUCK TREE!"

"See? All your nagging's distracting me. Would you just stop freaking out. Look, I'm now driving straight on my lane at 34. Is that better?"

"NO."

"It's not like I can't see. Just trust me."

"We're driving at night; we're all blind at night. Blind as bats and bats at night. Did I mention bats are blind at night?"

"You are an insufferable killjoy. The first time you let me drive you make me pull over after four minutes."

"You drove 1.7 miles which is at least six minutes. Chuck, over, now."

"No. I wanna drive 0.3 more. Shush or I'm moving in with Olive again."

While Ned the Pie Maker continued to argue with his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Charles floored the gas. She savored every last drop of the fermented taste of freedom of a new kind as Ned's car reached 40 miles per hour, then higher. Chuck's heart capsized with joy while Ned's combusted in a litany of panic attacks.

"Chuck, human!"

She tuned out his incessant demands moments before, but by the time she decided to reconsider his panic and saw her misfortune nearing with her own eyes, it was too late. She slammed the breaks and joined in Ned's screaming, but still a shadowy figure that appeared from the belly of mystery acquainted itself with the metal arms of the Pie Maker's car.

Chuck and Ned did not wait to catch their breaths. Both scrambled out to find a man who was not moving.

"Oh my goodness. I didn't even see him!"

"Yes, because you were driving 60 miles per hour."

"Oh...oh...please don't be dead. Ned, help me roll him over."

The Pie Maker reluctantly stooped next to the corpse-like being.

"Wait, check for a pulse first."

"Just help. If he's dead then I need to say sorry anyways."

"Okay, okay."

Yet as Ned's fingers touched the clammy neck of the man, no sparks left him.

"He's not dead."

"How fast is the heartbeat?"

"Anything but fast."

"We should go to the hospital."

"We can't."

"What, why?"

"Because there's at least a hundred people who could recognize you."

"But I could—"

"No, you can't wear sunglasses and a shawl. Security precautions."

"We can't just let him sit here."

"He's not sitting, he's sleeping. He'll be fine."

"Sleeping with the intended purpose of entering comatose. Here, let's get him in the car."

"No, absolutely not. I am not being framed as a murderer for the third time in my life."

"Sock it, or I'll sock it for you."

"That was violent."

"No, you idiot! Sock the side of his neck, as in wrap the darn cut oozing with his blood. It's on your side."

"...Oh..."

And so Charlotte Charles and Ned the Pie Maker stuffed their wounded fellow citizen in the backseat en route to their makeshift emergency room: The Pie Hole. As her panicking lover carried the still unconscious soul though the back entrance, Chuck concluded that indeed her first times always led to disaster, but at least second times held no such fate.

That she hoped.

#

"Uh, okay. Okay. I think you can stop biting your nails off. He's stopped bleeding."

"Internally too?"

"Well, he's not...purple."

"But he's blue."

"Ugg, I hate blue."

As the Pie Maker handed Chuck the wet rag in his hand, and she rushed to flood it with ice cold water again, Olive Snook the Pie Waitress bolted into the room.

"What was that all about? If we keep closing early then what's the point of a—holy moly! Did you kill someone?"

"NO. I...ran him over by accident."

"So...yes."

"Keyword: accident."

"Is he still breathing?"

"Damn."

"What is it, Ned?"

"Damn, he's waking up. That is not normal he's still too blue."

The three huddled together closer than the Three Musketeers, with Olive snatching a rolling pin and Ned the nearest spatula.

The fallen superhuman swam through the nauseating sensation of death until he fell into some consciousness. Chuck was the first to venture from safety. She tip-toed to the man's side and peered down at him, up close in the light for the first time.

"Is he a fighter?"

In all intended purposes, she wanted to say yes to Snook's question, but the stranger she ran over looked like much more than a fighter. He looked like he had faced death in the eyes and won many times.

"No, he's a king."

She was not wrong.

The facts are these:

Loki Odinson was 1210 years, 32 weeks, 197 days and 19 hours old when he returned from Svartalfheim with a glamor of an Einherjar on after his Frost Giant blood froze the deadly wound he'd been given in exchange for saving his older brother, Thor. He'd entered his father's (not-father's) destroyed throne room to "deliver the news" of his death.

With a snap of his fingers his glamor receded, and a one-sided argument flooded between the hallowed walls with offenses and slights galore. Odin, his not-father (father), seeing the state of his half perished son and overwhelmed by the melodrama that was his life collapsed into Odinsleep.

Loki stole the fallen king's staff called Gungnir and tucked his not-father (father) in a timey-wimmey shadow of Asgard. The magic of the ancient king's companion staff and tool healed his wound, but having never been taught to wield Gungnir accordingly and having been driven half mad by the unexpected development after being half mad already, the younger found himself sucked into a void created by residual energy of the weapon the 7th day, 146th hour, 10th minute and 56th second his five right fingers touched the staff, thumb first.

Fall into it, he did, without any ounce of grace, where he saw monsters and monstrosities beyond comprehension between the stretch marks and scars of the timeless universe.

This was his second time falling into one. Reduced to insanity at the repeated nightmare, he shielded himself from claws of all colors until the last of his magic was spent. It was all fortune that a rift of neon blues and dark greys stole him from the bosom of horrors.

He plummeted to asphalted ground, where the Pie Maker's car driven by Charlotte Charles welcomed him with such a grand gesture that it knocked the King into kingdom come.

Now, at seeing Charlotte while still compressed to the tip of his head with mental madness, the fallen princeling scrambled to his noodle-like feet and stumbled backwards until his shoulders slammed into the wall. Ned, Olive, and Chuck all screamed in his place, with the former taking two steps before his friends with the spatula aimed at the stranger.

"You should know that I wanted to be a Jedi. Anything is my lightsaber if I say so."

Yet as the three friends took in the sight of the stranger slumping to the floor with trembling shoulders, Ned felt a warm wad of emotions churn in his throat until he thought he would choke. Evidently he was not alone, for Chuck stole baby steps towards the stranger and Olive Snook stepped from behind her own prince's protection.

"Hi. I'm so sorry if we scared you, but I was the one driving the car that hit you... I'm so sorry about that, really, it was all my fault." It was strange to Chuck: the surging feeling of fire rising from her belly button and above, yet more ominous was the stranger's silent weeping. She recounted weeping as such when Ned confessed his accidental role in the early demise of her father.

"Hey, don't cry. You're safe." However, that was far from what their stranger believed, for when her tender hand touched his knee where he sobbed behind the shelter of, he bucked her backwards and jolted like a wild stallion towards the nearest door, which was the Pie Hole's dead fruit storage.

Ned jumped to the side and watched in horror as the love of his frail life flew towards the sink. Olive Snook caught her before her knees could crash land from the god-like force. Meanwhile, a million and one types of anger erupted from the gentle Pie Maker's soul.

"Ne-d, no! Do-n't hurt hi-m."

"But he hurt you!"

"Ju-st win-ded. P-ut the spa-tula down... Wow, he sure packed a punch."

"Actually it was more like a kick."

"Thanks Olive."

The three found him pulling at the roots of his hair, breathing as if he were drowning. In truth, he was, for he'd survived his second tumble into what no living soul was supposed to tumble into.

"Hi again," said Chuck, "I'm not mad at you for doing that because I, I kind of deserved it. I just want to tell you that we're your friends. My name is Chuck, or Charlotte...that's Ned, my boyfriend, and that's Olive, our best friend."

As the stranger's gaze met hers, she understood just how lost he was. In an effort to help, she snatched the morning paper, for if he was amnesiac from the accident then she assumed it would help him reorient.

The stranger from the sky took it with trembling spider fingers. And so the fire burned brighter in Chuck, because she watched the terror still engraved in his face soften into understanding, then blossom into quietness; an unquieting quietness. She thought the blazing fire was what a parent felt for their child.

A block or two away, Emerson Cod agreed. As he took in the wonder of his newly finished pop-up book "Lil' Gum Shoe," he concocted a melting pot filled to the brim with different types of scenarios that would land a copy in his lost daughter's little hands, one of which was so:

"When it becomes a bestseller you bett'a ask Santa to give it to you for Christmas. Whack him to death with it too for ignorin' your poppa's letters."

Speaking of letters, he set aside the darling book to revise a dozen query ones to child fiction literary agents.

His phone rang at 11:47 PM on a Thursday.

"Hello, you have reached Emerson Cod Cod Agency, please leave your name and number and call again when normal humans call. ...Have yourself a splendid evenin'."

But he relished two seconds and seventy nanoseconds of silence before the ringing returned.

"What don't you understand about my office being closed?"

"Mr. Emerson I gravely apologize for the late night call. I realize you must have dozens of cases on your list, but I need your assistance. My sister was...murdered, and I have two days to prove it."

"I would be pleased to assist, Miss, uh—"

"Sylvia Christmas."

"Right, Miss Christmas, but you understand this late night call and expedited services will cost you extra."

"I am prepared to pay whatever you charge."

"Thank you for understanding. What can you tell me about your sister?"

"She worked at Metropolitan City Metropolitan Mall."

"Uh-huh..."

"Her name was Santa Claus..."

#

If Ned could smell danger, he smelled danger. Their stranger had not moved since the night before the morning dew, to which Chuck decided she wished to spend it by his side.

Which in turn decided that Ned needed to stay.

Which in turn caused Olive to stay as well.

The Pie Maker wished Oscar Vebunious would come, perhaps to smell the stranger and warn him of possible poisoning attempts. After all, he felt those azure eyes of his was the label of a man who would strangle with hugs after luring you in with the weeping wails of a precious runt kitten.

"Why is it always a kitten? Why can't it be a puppy, or a dove? They can't claw your eyes out."

"Wut?"

To which Ned realized he'd spoken his thoughts aloud. "Oh, just thinking about kittens. How was...the floor?"

"Cold and hard... But I bet you could fix that."

"FIY - fix it yourself. I'm not a fixer, I'm a breaker... Would you go get some coffee ready? And don't let anyone pass the counters. I'll uh, I'll cook up some Cup Pies."

Olive Snook stared through his soul. "Wh-What, no pies?"

"I'm lazy."

As she exited with a dramatic sigh, Ned stole enough moments to stretch his crooked back just as much as his sour soul.

"Maybe I should buy a rug."

"A rug? For—" a yawn "—for what?"

Despite the anger and worry rotting down to the very root of the Pie Maker's veins, he turned to meet his childhood sweetheart stretching as well with a smile as bright as the sun.

"Nothing, it's just my think out loud day."

"Well as long as you don't plan on buying a bearskin one I wouldn't mind... What's with the running around?"

"I'm in my baking zone."

"You mean your about-to-stress-bake zone?"

"I'm not, I'm fine. As fine as aged wine. White aged wine is fine, fine, fine."

"I think the strawberry you just retouched would complain you're not fine enough."

The Pie Maker slumped. He wanted to express his frustration of her running over a stranger with his Mercedes, then confess just how agitated he was with her because she'd insisted on taking in the stranger who was so much stronger than he looked. However, one smile from her even while the words bottlenecked around his throat melted it all down. He crushed his inner storm like the strawberry between his fingers.

"Why do you have to be so perfect?"

"Are you jealous?"

If the Pie Maker could have a smile as wide as the Sahara Desert, then he had it now. "No. I'm just so proud of you for being so unapologetic and loving everyone so unapologetically that it makes me hope one day I'll be as perfect as you.

"If we had to relive last night, adrenaline rush, screaming and bullet sweats and all, then I'd still let you drive just to see that reckless love of yours destroy my safety bubble. Before you I hated surprises so much but now I find that I hate them even more because you make me love them and it feels so wrong but so right because you make wrong feel right. It...it is just an honor to be yours, Chuck."

"You adorkable Pie Maker. I...I think all I can say to that is nothing."

Their lips met between a sheet of plastic wrap. However, their emotions were not the only ones stirring. The stranger named Loki was being subjugated.

"My pies!"

"Oh hush, you can stress bake more. Hey–hey, Scar, this way."

"Did you just call him 'Scar?'"

"You aren't deaf are you?"

"Then who's Mufasa?"

"If you stop talking and start helping, then you!"

Though reluctant, the Pie Maker did wish to claim the title. The greatest lion of Pride Rock was his greatest hero.

#

At the Londonborough school for boys, Ned often found himself detained in what the professors called "The Silent Room". Whether the reason of his detainment was because he was caught baking pies again in memory of the mother he lost or found sneaking into the rooms while the twilight was still young, young Ned found the brick and mortar room with a single television and a broken cassette player to be his new home.

He did not mind the solitude, for silence was a better friend than the other boys would ever be. It would not judge the boy who had powers he never asked for that he could not control.

Though he had a broken life, he did not will to see other broken things, which was why he picked up the project of repairing the broken cassette player.

Days passed. His so-called punishment hours lowered.

Then on hour 45 while completing the 10th five hour session in his new home, the cassette player came to life. He winded back the tape that had been inside, and pushed it in the machine his dainty fingers had brought back to life by his choice.

Thus, the young Pie Maker completed his last five hours in his new home watching _The Lion King_. He wished his own father would have been like Mufasa the Great, but he had chosen to be Scar the Traitor.

Ned's father played a more appalling trick than murder, however. He disappeared in all a magician's gusto after leaving his son a note that he would come back for him.

He lied.

#

"Coming!"

"Stopping!"

"Going!"

"Waiting! ...Why did you have to bring him here?"

"In our room now. Hey Digby! And because I felt that as a good friend I couldn't impose his care on Olive, since she wasn't the one who ran him over and all."

"En route to kitchen!"

"Following! Come on Mr. Fluff."

"But see here, I do not agree with Stranger sleeping in our home. What if he sets the curtains on fire? Or...or hurts Digby? Hey buddy."

"Crossing behind you. Should I laugh or cringe because you worry more about your curtains than Digby?"

"Digby can defend himself. Don't change the subject. How is he supposed to sleep anyways? Those couches are as old as me; horrible to sleep on."

"Well..."

At the sound of his childhood sweetheart's voice rising an octave and some, the Pie Maker dropped the coffee bag in his hands.

"Don't you—turning!—dare tell me he's sleeping in our room."

"Well—"

"No."

"I—"

"No."

"But—"

"No, Chuck. You and I need good night sleep. We won't get that if a stranger as off his rockers as he is stays with us."

"Hehe, did you just quote me?"

"What?"

"You said 'off his rockers'."

"It – it sounds cuter when you say it."

"Aww, your smile makes your cheeks so pinch-able."

"Mmm... No, stop changing the subject! You know I'm right."

"Where else is he supposed to recover if you won't take him to the hospital? Here, let me make the coffee. Was it decaf or regular?"

"Thanks. Regular of course. And anywhere...but here. Anywhere but here. I heard the fire escape has a nice sunny spot. Walking."

"Following. Don't you even think about it. He's staying in here until he feels better. Whether you like him borrowing my bed or not doesn't matter to me."

"Chuck—"

"I did—stopping!—this, I want to fix it. Can you please let me fix something by myself without trying to be my knight in shining armor? I mean, I like that you love me so much but you still have too many strings on me. I need you to trust me, Ned."

"I...trust you."

"Your eye just twitched."

"I do. I really do."

"Then let me take care of him."

"...Chuck..."

"See, that's what I was talking about. You don't and it hurts."

"Okay, let's look at this objectively."

"Uh, Emerson."

"No, we can't tell Emerson. He'll blow up on me before I could strike the match."

"No, Emerson's coming!"

"Oh shoot! Quick, hide him."

"Running!"

"Getting the—Emerson, hey. How's...how's life?"

"...Boy, you have a phone?"

"Uh...yes?"

"You know what phones are meant to be?"

"Walkie Talkies?"

"No, they supposed to be answered!"

 _(Whack!)_

"Owww! How do you roll those newspapers? It feels like you hit me with a bat each time."

"Uh-uh, don't go changin' the subject. You mind telling me why your little Pie Hole's closed, cause last time I checked small businesses ain't got time for irregular hours."

"Uh... it's President's Day. You know, respect your leaders... My eye's twitching again isn't it?"

"Huh, maybe you do have a brain up in there. Go get me some tea. We have a new case."

"But I'm - I'm kind of busy today."

"...Hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That's the sound of me carin'."

" _Asdfghjk..._ "

"Was that a grumble I heard from a grown ass man?"

"No, not at all. Feel free, take a seat. I'll get your tea and we can talk. It's not like I'm—in the kitchen!—plotting how to get rid of a stranger Chuck ran over or anything."

"Grey Earl please."

"Do I look British to you?"

"Yeah, you got the dark hair and blue eyes. Hurry up."

" _...Asdfghjk_."

"Joining! ...Hey Emmy, what's the sitch this time?"

"One, do not ever call me that again. Two, it ain't your concern, dead girl."

"Cooooome ooooon, I wanna help."

"I don't got time for you and your 'any last thoughts or requests' mumbo jumbo. Thanks to Pie Boy here not answerin' his phone like they're meant to be, I'm set back nine hours too many."

"Sugar, milk?"

"One splash of milk."

"Why are the nine hours significant?"

"Because I've got 2 days to solve it before Lady Claus' life insurance stamps her death out as a work related accident. So far I haven't got much but her working hours. That damn mall's so packed ain't nobody got the courtesy to answer questions."

"Which is why you need me, I see. Here's your tea. Just give me two minutes to change. Chuck, you hang around and, uh, read some books. Maybe invite Olive over for some extra support, you know, just in case you need help choosing a book or the bookshelves topple or something."

"I got the message loud and clear, sweetie."

"...Hey love birds, pick up your eyes and place them in your sockets again. I—"

"Don't got time for this," _(completed both)._

As the Pie Maker and his childhood sweetheart burst into giggles at that and a plethora of unspoken inside jokes, someone else burst with very different emotions.

#

"Vivian, I don't understand why you think I'm out to ruin your happiness. Can't you see I'm trying to protect you? I explained this when Beaver Boy and that metrosexual detective he works with set us up."

"Just because you explained doesn't mean I agree. I have been 'protected' by you and this house for too many years. I can take care of myself, Lily."

"No you—Hey, where are you going?"

"Swimming!"

Aunt Vivian stormed out of the room, but all Aunt Lily could think of was all the times she locked her little sister with a weak heart away from the world. Though she always thought it would hurt her, she allowed herself to dig up the truth she had buried 27 years ago: she was the one that had done the hurting to her all her life.

She snorted when the agitating tickle of salt water met her lips in droplets.

"Ugh, I need a drink."

And as she drank not minding the salt of olives and tears that stung her tongue, she concluded that she had to help Vivian some other way. She had to weave together machinations to prove to her little sister just how dangerous her supposed lover, Dwight Dixon, was.

"Where's my blond-haired big mouth?"

#

"'She was a blond-haired big mouth?' How does that even work with her name?"

"I'm quotin' from her sister's description," said the Coroner with as much emotion as a groundhog on Groundhog's Day.

"I can already see a billion motives."

"Yeah, well I can see a billion dolla's, Mr. Cod."

"Really? Cause I can't see that happenin' in your sweetest dreams."

"I heard this case of yours gotta be done quickety quack. You and Elf Boy wanna see woman Claus, you have'ta pay her makeup artist."

"Um, I'm not an—"

"Elves are shifty sons 'a bitches."

"Did you just..."

"..."

"..."

"Mhhm."

"Oh for pie's sake, just give him more money. I have things to take care of."

"You just lucky this time, Sassy Pants."

"Uh-hu."

The Pie Maker and private investigator Emerson Cod left the Coroner behind to enjoy his newest fan of Franklins. They joined the cold shoulders of Lady Claus.

"Right, so her name's Caroline Christmas, also known as Santa Claus."

"Both fit considering she looks like a golden snowflake."

"Your commentary ain't gonna solve this case. Let's get this show on the road."

"Okay..." The Pie Maker pressed on the timer on his wristwatch. Her eyes fluttered open at his single touch of life. "Hi, Miss Christmas. In case you can't tell from your frozen body, you're dead. Sorry. But we're here to help catch your killer. Is there anything you can tell us that would help us find him or her? You have less than 60 seconds."

"I...was working overtime."

"At Metropolitan City Metropolitan Mall?"

"Yes. I was restocking the Fiery Fiona perfume section. Had me the sandwich my friend Clarissa brought me; tasted interesting. She owed me five bucks anyways, wasn't expecting a gourmet BLT."

"So your real name isn't Santa Claus?"

"Haha! Oh no, sonny. It was the nickname I got at the pageant."

"Pageant..."

"Yeah, training pageant, where all who sign up compete to be the next model for the mall's holiday magazines. Being on that front cover means you made it big."

"But what does that nickname have to do with it?"

"I've forfeited the same pageant six years in a row so my fellow disadvantaged sisters on camera could get a better shot. Earned me that name I suppose, but I quite like it."

"Ten seconds. Can you remember anything else about that night?"

"I remember smelling chlorine when I blacked out. In fact, still do."

"What about the freezer?"

"It's in the back of Olfactory Delights, used to store special perfume glasses and other pigmented fragrances. I don't remember being put in there if that's what you're asking."

"Any-last-thoughts-or-requests?"

Emerson Cod scowled at the Chuck-sized chip on Ned's shoulder.

"Please tell Sylvia to stay away from Cory. I don't trust that introverted screwball."

"Hold up, who's—" With the minute a second to expiration, The Pie Maker touched her again, which took her borrowed time away. He covered her dead-again shoulders. "...Cory. You had to ask about her last requests didn't you?"

"It's only the nice thing to do."

"Yeah? You tell me when bein' nice solves a murder and I'll give you a buck."

"Only a buck?"

"You just think you clever, Elf Boy."

"I don't understand why you two keep—"

"She didn't remember gettin' stuffed in the freezer, which means it happened postmortem."

"Maybe the killer wanted to hide her body, or put her in there to make sure she died."

"Could be something between the two. We've gotta find out who Cory is. Doesn't sound like Christmas and they were close."

"What about her friend Clarissa?"

"We'll get there. What I wanna know is why her insurance company sees bein' stuffed like a skinned turkey into a freezer would be considered a work related accident."

"So, where to first?"

"I'm thinkin' lil' sis knows more than she let on."

#

"I'm so sorry for the delay, Mr. Cod. And you are?"

"Ned, his assistant."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ned, but not too pleasing circumstances I'm afraid."

"Yes, truly difficult. We're so sorry for your loss."

"It is a bit easier to get through because you two will be leading her ghost to peace. Please, come, take a seat. Be careful of the wreaths. I'll get some coffee... Oh, and do forgive the chaos of the kitchen. There's two platters from each friend, it seems, but I haven't an appetite for them."

Emerson Cod and Ned took their seats in the living room bean chairs, but the former chose to stand rather than sink into the seat. Sylvia joined them again.

"Any milk or sugar? If any of the food catches your eyes, too, please feel free to ask."

"A little milk, three spoons—"

"We'll both take black, Miss Christmas, and thank you for your offered goods. They look scrumptious, however we runnin' out of time, you see, and I feel like we haven't gotten your sister's full story."

"Oh, yes, of course, forgive me for throwing you in so blind. I will be as comprehensive as I can. What would you like to know?"

"Caroline worked full-time at Olfactory Delights, correct?"

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"...On paper, yes, but my sister had a knack for going above and beyond in whatever she did. She was basically the store manager."

"Who is the store manager she stepped up for?"

"Bassem Nagi, who took Clarissa Clary's position."

The Pie Maker and the Private Investigator exchanged knowing glances.

"Uh...do you know anything about the two?"

"Let me think a moment... I know Bassem is an Arabian exchange student. His devotion to the arts of perfumery bumped him up over Caroline to become the true manager. My sister talked a lot about him after he joined the crew. Here's your coffee by the way, dear."

"In place of Clarissa? And thank you."

"Yes. She was promoted to the marketing section. She has a lot of strings to tug at with her social media experience. It only made sense I suppose."

"...And your sister was friends with both of them?"

"Not too much Bassem. He has been in training, I believe, but it wouldn't be too far to say they were good acquaintances. Caroline was just a reckless people-person. But Clarissa, yes. They were conjoined at the hips. Made me quite jealous at how well they'd get along at times. Though their first meeting at the pageant was anything but conventional, they clicked nonetheless. You've never seen better friends than them."

Never before had the Pie Maker tasted sweet drops of energy become bitter beans of anxiety in his mouth. He believed Chuck running over Stranger was anything but a conventional first meeting. "Uh, sorry...about the backwash. Great coffee, it's just...some acid reflux. Do you—ehem—know if Clarissa still visits the store?"

"Almost certain. She can't skip her workload anymore."

"I have one more question."

"Go right ahead, Mr. Cod."

"The crime scene investigators retrieved a sticky note from your sister's daily planner. It just had 'Cory' written on it. Does that name ring a bell?"

"Ah, Cory. Complicated story..." there was a ring on her door, "Well, she can explain it herself. Let me let her in."

"Great,we'll be right here... Please tell me this punctual timeliness feels creepy to you too."

"Everythin' feels creepy. Never seen so much damn white in a house before."

"Agreed. Was the sticky note an actual thing?"

"I'm improvisin'. Better than you citing an 'anonymous source that wishes to remain anonymous.'"

"Improvising is not how I roll."

"Yeah? Well dead girl's still not dead. You've been improvisin' each minute she's been alive. I don't see you whinin' about it."

"Let me revise my statement to: 'I don't look forward to improvising.' Better?"

"Focus on the case, Pie Boy."

"Gladly..."

"Cory, please meet Emerson and Ned. They're here investigating on behalf of Caroline."

"Hey."

"Hey," said the Pie Maker.

"You got time for a question, Cory?"

"Sure."

Emerson Cod's question dangled from the edge of his tongue, however, one look at Cory's name tag blossomed another sentence in its place. "Tell me about your insurance. I've been lookin' for a better replacement."

#

"Somethin's fishy. I don't like it."

"What, the part about the managers not having motive or Cory working at the same suspicious insurance company that ignored the pretty obvious signs of Caroline's death being murder, not accident?"

"...No, either your Grey Earl expired one hour ago or you mixed sea salt instead'a sugar into it."

"...Oh..."

"Make another, and taste the white crystals before you stir them in, would you? But yes, somethin's sketchy about this case. Somethin' about them two managers irks me."

"So you don't feel queezy about Cory?"

"I'm feelin' queezy about plenty, but my gut ain't gonna be solvin' the case. What if we—" The sound of lamps crashing into wood ricocheted from across Ned's apartment. "What was that?"

The Pie Maker swallowed crushing dread in his throat, darting for an escape from the situation. He reached for it.

"Uh, what?! Sorry, I've butterfingers today!"

"Stop slammin' your damn pots together and tell me what you've been hidin'."

"Hiding? Why would I be hiding anything?" The noise picked up again, so followed the Pie Maker. "Like I said, butterfingers!"

"Your eye is twitchin'."

"Completely coincidental."

"..."

"Damn it..."

Without another moment to lose, Emerson Cod marched towards the source of the sound, which came from Ned and Chuck's bedroom. His eyes fell upon a stranger and Chuck and Olive trying to calm him in his distress.

"Someone better tell me what the hell happened here."

"Ned! You were supposed to stay out longer."

"I...Sorry, he wanted tea. Again. Coffee shops don't have good enough tea apparently."

"Did anybody hear what I just said? ... Boy, you better not tell me you touched someone and kept them alive too long again."

"Wut?"

"Metaphor, Olive. And no, I didn't do anything."

"He's right, Emerson. It's my fault. I ran him over last night."

"You let de—crazy girl—drive!"

"I'm taking responsibility, okay? I'm trying to fix this. I don't need Ned to fix everything for me so if you want to yap about what a bad mistake I made then yap at me."

"You damn right you fixin' it, because Ned and I will be digging deeper into our little case while you and Itty-Bitty check him out of town."

"But—"

"No."

"He's—"

"No."

"—lost and scared—"

"No, woman. You lead the unstable man to the hospital or away from here. You have five seconds to agree. 5...4...3..."

"Okay, okay! Geez. Olive, would you help me walk him?"

"That's right. Ned, meet me out back; tea in thermos. We leavin' after them."

"Yes boss... Chuck, don't give me that look. You know full well I agree with him."

"But look at him. He hasn't even been sleeping right from nightmares. I can't just kick him out. Please?"

"You heard Emerson. Like I said, I agree with him. You and Olive can drop him off at the hospital if your conscience weighs you so much. Isn't that right, Olive?"

"...I dunno, he's pretty crazy. All he's been saying is 'Asgard'."

"What, the Asgard of myth?"

"Yup."

"See, you hit him harder than we guessed."

"Ned!"

"No, Chuck. That's final. Hurry before Emerson comes back."

Thus, Olive Snook and Charlotte Charles somehow managed to take the stranger outside, to which he remembered he had feet and started his own trek by himself. While the women broke into sprints to keep up with him, the P.I. and his assistant, both satisfied that the stranger left of his own accord, started their own towards the Metropolitan City Metropolitan Mall.

The women chased their stranger's shadow towards the location where Chuck remembered hitting the man, yet he had a different reason for being there. He gazed up at the sky as if it could tell him the answer to his deepest question.

It did. Asgard was not searching.

With his focus being attracting the restored gatekeeper's notice, he gathered the elements into his closing fists. To Chuck and Olive, swirls of reflective smoke circled their stranger, but it was more than that: it was magic. It whirled and boiled from the pads of his grimy fingers around him until it erupted with a toss towards the sky in a pillar of blinding burned orange. For 5.3 seconds, the fallen majesty let it send his message for him, but when it failed to win notice, he reached for all the replenished magic in his veins to amplify it.

"Heimdall," he hollered into the midst of it so that it carried as if he had a microphone connected to the whole world.

Chuck and Olive fell behind the protection of a fallen tree, watching from between dried twigs still clinging to browning leaves. They watched in horror as the pillar of light grew wider just like the space between his reaching arms. Chuck covered her friend when a shockwave broke free from what had morphed into a twister bending to the hands of their stranger. The women clawed onto the solid ground with all their strength as the twister grew fiercer, yet did not affect its creator.

Out of the rubble and dust, between the torrent sounds of angry elements, they watched with twisted hearts as he poured his soul out through his voice one final time.

 _"HEIIIIIIIIIIMDAAAAAAAAAAALLLL!"_

Asgard did not answer. Loki Odinson collapsed to his knees. Magic millions of miles unlike the Pie Maker's evaporated into the atmosphere.

Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook rose from the resulting mess. Step by step they neared the God of Mischief's trembling shoulders. Inch by inch Chuck's hand reached to console him. Second by second the god felt further away from home. But the two still-beating hearts ended up resting next to the one that struggled to pulse.

Both dizzy with the rush of sympathy and trickles of fear, they took each others hands. It was the exchange that signaled both winded women had reached a silent agreement.

Across town, the Pie Maker and Emerson Cod stumbled upon a little less chaos, keywords being "a little less."

"What is it with all these people? They ain't even havin' a sale."

"They say the second most common desire that humans have in common is that they like smelling nice, behind looking pleasing. Olfactory Delights is the best brand of perfume and cologne in the market. The crowd makes sense to me."

"That so?"

"Very so."

"Huh... I also heard each human has their own scent. I fail to see why I should want to burn $200 on a three-ounce bottle so I could smell like Emmy Davato."

"Special gift wrap?"

"Don't be fallin' for it. Where is that manager—"

"Welcome to Olfactory Delights, gentlemen!"

"Woah!" _(hollered both with a jolt backwards)._

"Did you know that smell is the most sensitive of the senses? People can remember smells with 65% accuracy after a year, while visual recall is about 50% after three months. I am Bassem, here to help you find your most complementary and memorable scent. Is there any type you'd prefer? Say, Mon Chéri Musk, which has a strong but sweet red-cherry-wood-in-StaffFlag-snow scent, or Feeling Peachy Cologne by Pace McBride, which smells like autumn chill and warm peach cobbler."

"You got a cologne that smells like chloroform Mr. New Manager?"

"...Oh, you gentlemen are here about Caroline Christmas aren't you?"

"You ain't lookin' too thrilled all the sudden. Got somethin' you need'a unpack?"

"Follow me."

"Why we rushin'?"

"I wish to get this whole business out of the way. Bad energy has this place around its neck since the incident... Welcome. Please take a seat."

"Is this your office?"

"Yes, as of recent."

"So you completed your training I take it."

"Yes, Mr?..."

"Ned, just Ned. This is my boss Emerson."

"That's Mr. Cod of Cod Agency. You was talkin'."

"Yes, Mr. Cod. Caroline, bless her spirit, worked overtime the night she left us. She wished my first shift to be as organized as possible."

"Uh-hu, and what was she organizin'?"

"The usual, like invoices, payroll, compounding ingredients. She restocked a few sections as well."

"She sure had lots of responsibility.

"Yes, it was strange considering her title, but I appreciated every moment of her guidance."

"Who was it that trained you then?"

"Mostly HR agents, which varied, but the constant was Clarissa Clary."

"Is she here today?"

"She will be soon, in fact with a photoshoot posse for some social media pictures. If you'd like to be in a picture please feel free to stick around."

"We might just do that. Have you heard anything or know about anyone named Cory?"

"No, doesn't ring a bell."

"Wonderful. Thank you for your time and welcome to America."

"Agreed."

"Thank you Mr. Cod; Ned. Is that it?"

"Sure. Go right on."

Once the manager walked them out and wend on his way, the Pie Maker stopped Emerson from walking on too.

"Wait. Bassem and Caroline said this place compounds some of their products."

"Yeah, and?"

"What if we find where their compounding room is? If we find the chloroform then we might find fingerprints."

"...Good idea but it ain't busy enough."

"Then – then you stay here. I'll find a white coat or whatever they wear."

"Get movin' long legs."

The Pie Maker snuck into the back of Olfactory Delights, where he stumbled upon Caroline's first casket. He followed it deeper until his fingers touched a particularly unfrozen crack along the metal wall. He pulled it open to find the well-hidden compounding room, which made him wonder why it was so well-hidden. Yet what hit him hardest was the pungent smell of a sweet ether.

"That doesn't feel right..."

While waiting, Emerson Cod trekked through the overwhelmed store. It was once he considered the candle shop across the hall and the women's store not too much further, both being sunken in red-ink accounting, that he wondered if perhaps there was more to the success formula of Olfactory Delights than his eyes could see and Clarissa's web could spin.

It was when he picked up his sixth bottle that another horde wound him deeper into the craze. The webmaster herself was at its head.

"Gentlemen, take as many pictures as possible. Keep it minimalistic but festive. I wanna see those VSCO skills in full use."

"...Festive. Huh."

At that precise moment while Emerson flashed over the facts of the case and avid customers broke into a rush to be included in the pictures with their fragrant palms filled with assortments of perfumes alongside the vivacious social media master, the Pie Maker rejoined his side.

"We need to talk. Again."

"That's what I was about to say."

"But first Clarissa?"

"I think she's tellin' us more from the distance. Caroline was a part of a pageant for a holiday magazine cover photo shoot."

"Is your gut telling you the cover's what Clarissa wanted too?"

"It's tellin' me I need'a get out of this store, but yeah, that too. Let's get some coffee. Whisper while you walk."

"K... So, Sylvia said Clarissa can pull strings. What if Cory was that string? Maybe the unknowing string."

"What if Cory was the unknowing mask Clarissa used? Don't you be making conclusions."

"Fine, but I found chloroform in their compounding room."

"Bingo. And?"

"It's the chlorine they mix inside their summer scents."

"Chloroform is a byproduct of—"

"Listen, boss. I took a sniff – I know stupid idea – but it's the after smell for their Rosetta Roses line."

"...What the hell?!"

"Maybe we should keep walking? Looks less suspicious."

"There's _chloroform_ in their products?"

"SHHH. Keep walking and whispering."

"Hhh... Chloroform ain't lethal. A soaked rag isn't gonna kill a person unless they breathe it in for minutes straight. It makes you all loopy in low doses, like having too much ice cream in the summer, and an anesthetic in higher ones."

"Unless her killer made her unconscious and put her in the freezer to die."

"Yeah, maybe. I'll think about it all tonight. We'll visit Cory if I don't get a convenient epiphany. You payin'. Double shot, one pump sugar."

"I guess I'll get the same. We have a lot to untangle..."

Indeed they did. Added to their winding case was the fallen prince of Asgard, who slept upon Ned's couch in a tangle of Charlotte Charles' blankets.

#

"Chuck. Charles."

"Just let me explain and then you both can growl at me all you want."

"Woman, the only thing you'd better explain is why you brought him back when he ran away voluntarily."

"Hush. I just got him to fall asleep."

"I ain't hushin' for anyone. You even know his name?"

"It's Scar."

"His name isn't Scar, you just call him that."

"That doesn't change the fact that I ran him over and I will take care of him."

"Uggh. Chuck, we had this conversa—why are you crying?"

"Because you didn't see what me and Olive saw and you don't trust me."

"I trust you. I swear. I'd never lie to you about that."

"Then if I tell you what happened you'll believe me?"

"On with it already, dead girl. And stop sniveling. Stranger ain't your husband."

"Huh?!"

"Let the woman talk Jealous Johnson."

"Okay...Did you hear someone yelling an hour ago?"

"Ever'body who could hear heard it. What about it?"

"That was him."

"Come again?"

"That ain't human."

"Me and Olive followed him after you two took off. He ran back to where I hit him. He...he has magic kind of like you, Ned, and he used it to call out to someone. He created this whole twister around him—"

"Woah, woah, wait. Did he hurt you again?"

"No, I'm fine. Olive's fine. I just sent her to the pharmacy to get some melatonin for him."

"Who was he callin' for in the sky?"

"Heimdall."

"Ack. Ack, ack, ack!"

"Stop squakin' in my ear."

"Sorry. 40.5% of my brain just melted."

"Well scoop the damn gunk together and talk."

"I – I think Stranger isn't human. Heimdall is the anglicized equivalent of Heimdallr, which in Norse mythology is the gatekeeper of Asgard. They have this whole magic bridge they use to teleport between worlds and super powerful magic and Thor with a crazy strong hammer that shoots out lighting."

"I don't know which part is weirder: you knowing Norse myth or dead girl runnin' a Norse myth maniac over."

"Wait, you believe me?"

"Of course I do."

"Not hard to considering what the bastard's wearin'."

"Aye..."

"Hey Olive. Did you get it?"

"Yeah, and some sandwiches from that one place. Hi Ned; Emerson!"

"Hi Olive."

"...Olive."

"There was a sale at Dicker's so I got Scar some, well, less metal-ly clothes. And a PJ."

"Oo, I love them. Ned won't be the only one wearing monochromatic now."

"See that? See you two a-talkin'? You might'a run the fool over but that don't mean he's staying."

"What Emerson said."

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see what he decides. My soup's still cooking. Any of you gentlemen want to share a sub?"

Ned the Pie Maker, Charlotte Charles, Emerson Cod, and Olive Snook sat around the dinner table while a prince named Loki slept in the other room. And as Emerson the private investigator chewed his first bite of the sandwich Olive had brought home alongside their Stranger's new wardrobe (if he accepted of course), he frowned.

"What did you put in this thing?"

"Swiss cheese, turkey, romaine lettuce, spinach, peperone—"

"Peperone. What the hell is that?"

"It's an Italian pepper, sort of spicy and sweet at the same time. Real good with Mayonnaise..."

Then it hit him.

"Her sandwich!"

"Wut?"

"I ain't talkin' to you. It was the sandwich, Ned."

"The sandwich?"

"Haha. Hello convenient epiphany."

"Huh... How domestic."

The facts were these:

Clarissa Clary, being angered by her best friend's generosity towards the disadvantaged and her ignorance towards her deepest wishes for the whole of their decade-long friendship plotted a way to kill the Claus. Knowing Cory the insurance agent would likely be the next beneficiary in the pageant because her left leg was shorter than her right, she plotted a way for Caroline to die, but came up with no one that would leave her suspicion free. When her best friend told her she didn't trust Cory after all and saw for herself that Cory did not much like Caroline, Clarissa took it as her blessing and picked up her plots again.

She poisoned the pre-made sandwich she bought for $5 with hemlock leaves she cleaned with crisp, cold water alongside romaine lettuce, baby spinach, frisée, and arugula until they looked fresh from the stem. And so, while Caroline worked overtime to prepare Bassem while believing her best friend was out shopping for their eleventh photoshoot only one of them kept winning, Caroline devoured her sandwich.

Half an hour later, while she restocked the Fiery Fiona section with half-closed eyes and a grumbling belly, Clarissa attacked from behind, holding a drenched cloth with chloroform and chlorine to Caroline's nose until she lost consciousness. The media guru dragged Caroline into the freezer.

Knowing full well the hemlock would take her life in a matter of minutes, she tossed a few ingredients from the freezer shelves to make it look like the woman had stumbled and hit her head. She set the scene up with spilled chlorine bottles and splashed her unconscious friend with it for good measure, all done with garb and gloves. Then she placed the key where Caroline usually left it, locked the door between them, and moved on.

When agents from Cory's insurance arrived, the cause of death could not be determined. With the corpse being frozen atop rivers of spilled chlorine, some of which had created the ether smell of chloroform, it was determined that she had tripped inside, hit her head too hard, and spilled the contents she had in her arms despite her reputation of never being a clumsy worker. Because the door had been locked and Caroline's keys had been on her counter, authorities nonetheless assumed her exhaustion had led her to be a little less careful.

Clarissa Clary was set to win the photoshoot either by Olfactory Delights' bribing the contest or by smiling just right for the camera. No one else would have a chance. But there was one person Clarissa overlooked, which was Sylvia and her loving devotion to her big sister. After inspecting the scene for herself, she was convinced enough that Caroline's untimely death was more than just an accident.

Thus, Caroline Christmas' case was solved with 24 hours still on the clock, but our heroes decided parts of it was not.

Emerson reached out to health services to investigate why chloroform was passing as a "secret ingredient" in perfumes at Olfactory Delights while Ned the Pie Maker reached out to Chuck.

#

"Hi."

"Hey! What do you think? Will it be monochromatic enough for him? He'll walk around like a gothic hero with these, so I figured I'd add more colors to the bed. He seems to love green."

"I'm sure he'll more than love this all."

"Well I'm just grateful he's sleeping. Sure, it's because he cried his guts out, but we can all sew them in again. I don't mind the oozing blood or the iron-tinged stains."

"That sure was a graphic metaphor."

"That's what I felt, though. After you told me you accidentally killed my dad."

"But I sowed your insides back together?"

"Mhm, it just took time."

"Mhm..."

"Mhm..."

"So, I decided something."

"I like decided-and-smiling-Ned."

"I'm not going to be the jealous boyfriend who feels I should be entitled to your big heart. I'm going to try to flow with this whole you being reckless with someone other than me because I...I don't own you. It's not fair to try to lock down that love. I shouldn't even be trying if it's yours to give away anyways since you feel confident it's going to the right person. But I do have one condition."

"Ooh?"

"Can you not call him Scar?"

"Haha! Why not? It suits him so well."

"No reason in particular, I just...have that name reserved to no one of any importance at all."

"You mean your dad?"

"I said 'no one of any importance'. He would fall under the category of 'such-a-vicious-monster-that-he-does-not-ever-deserve-any-mention-at-all-much-less-a-nickname'."

"You need to plan another date with your brothers. You've gone all cynical again."

"I'm sorry you expected over two decades of poison to be gone with a snap of 'oh-hey-meet-your-half-brothers-who-your-dad-left-behind-too-sorry'."

"Well if you ask me, I'd say you created a very specific category for Poppa Ned."

"Please, Chuck."

"Fiiiine... I guess I could call him Tom, just until he tells us his name."

"Tom. I think it'll work."

"Thomas would too, if he wears the clothes Olive got him."

As the Pie Maker looked at her smiling, he could not help but smile too. He felt his heart grow inside his ribcage yet again.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. You're trusting me and letting me fix this. You'll never know how good it feels to know you mean it."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

Across the universe, at that same moment, shaking five fingers curled around Gungnir. With his one eye staring into the realms from the high seat called Hlidskjalf, Odin All-Father found his son.


	2. Rummy

**Part 2 | "Rummy"**

* * *

Olive Snook was 8 years, 11 months, 38 weeks, and 47 days old when she stole her first memento on purpose.

It was in the antiques shop she had followed her mother to that she saw the bone white teapot and orange lace designs on the darling accompanying cups. She waited for her mother that talked to anyone for hours without end but her to begin a conversation with the cashier-owner, and when she did, young Olive tucked the many little cups inside the pot, hid her treasures behind her too-large jacket, and fled for home.

"Where have you got there?" asked her father at the front door.

Olive wanted to burst with euphoria that her father had known she was gone, so much so that he asked because he cared that she'd been gone, but the feeling did not last long. Her father's old friend beat her to the doorstep.

"Brought some pizza and fresh wine. You know I always bring treats."

"Perfect! We have too much catching up to do."

Thus, young Olive carried her stolen goods and her broken spirit up to her room, where she unloaded them both. Filled with the urge to speak to someone yet being too angry to weep, she decided to try hosting a tea party like other blond-haired and rose-cheeked girls did on the tele.

The pie waitress to-be turned her room into a party, with Mr. Patch-Eye Candyskull being the baronet of the event alongside Miss Mutant Piggy, Duchess Rainbow Clops, and about five more of their peculiar friends.

While Olive nattered and splattered cooled apple juice from teacups with her friends, she realized she could distract herself out of her pain.

That tea party was far from her last, and when she met the Pie Maker her brimming teacups were joined with pie binging because he was in love with a girl named Chuck.

She did not know if the "falling in love with Chuck" part should occur again, but she did know someone else needed a binge like hers.

#

"See Scar, here is the left side of the Pie Hole. People sit and eat here too, just like the right side. Some people like to order coffee or tea but there's something about this side that makes them order more tea."

"And cappuccinos. Very popular on the left side too, especially the left side of the counter. Mornin' Scar! Welcome to the Pie Hole. I see Chuck's been showing you around."

"Oh, you know I couldn't resist. Got the dishes done?"

"Yup."

"Great, and thanks, I almost forgot about that contraption. Wanna try a cappuccino, Scar? It tastes like silk and smooth electrons in your mouth, with a little jolt of ecstasy, especially if Olive makes it."

"Mhm, I'm the Mother of Drugless Baristas. One cup will cheer you right up."

"Drugless Barista meaning there are Druggist Baristas?"

"If special brownies exist then special coffee does too... Don't give me that look, I ain't making either."

"...Right. So Scar, do you want some?"

Their stranger they called Scar who they should have been calling Tom who was in truth Loki, the fallen prince of Asgard, slumped and stared into the floor. The empty gaze of a boy lost light years away infuriated Chuck's stomach acids until they fermented up and overflowed into the tail end of her esophagus. Her nosey fingers wrapped tighter around unresponsive ones, and towed them along with her forceful trek onward.

"Okay, what do you think about here? This is the counter. From here you can see Digby in the kitchen and Ned not cutting up butter bars anymore. Hey Digby, wave a paw for our new buddy... Good boy! See, even Digby likes you."

"Hard not'a like that face though."

" _Touché mi cherié._ "

"Ugg. Stop fawning, both of you. People are eating pie."

"Would you look at that, we've summoned the Great Pie Maker. He's fussy about public image."

"And a whole bunch of other things."

"I have a right to be fussy. For one, stop dragging him around everywhere please, it looks abusive. Two, I thought we made a deal that we wouldn't call him Scar. And Olive, there's more dishes to clean if you're done mumbling."

"No, I just finished—hey, you smudged them with apple syrup and butter fingers!"

"Did not."

"I'll clean them in 20 minutes."

"They could stain."

"I'm on my break, shush."

"Olive, do I really look abusive?"

"Well yeah, I mean he isn't exactly following you out of free will. Kinda dragging behind."

"Sort of tripping..."

"...even crawling with your especially determined yanks. Mhm."

At their honesty, Chuck let go of the prince's stone hand, ignoring the gnawing butterflies burning through her marrow at how it would be colder away from hers. "I'm so sorry, I thought I could distract you from the hurts. Umm...here, you can sit if you'd like."

He did.

The fallen prince of Asgard fell like an uprooted willow to wallow alone. With his crossed arms being his gates a-top the counter and spilled locks his velvet black curtain, he sat unmoving while the others could not stop their stirring.

"Awww. I wish I could just rip all that pain away... Hey, Emerson."

"Dead girl... What's the matter with weeping widow?"

"He's weeping."

"I can see that, Pie Boy. What I don't see is any of you tryin'a stop her."

"Come on, be considerate. _He's_ a long way from home. Olive, would you make two cappuccinos please? I'll sit with him."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks. Don't freak out New Buddy, it's just me getting the hair out of your eyes so you can breathe in your little crying cave, okay?"

"Uh-uh, don't be startin' all that coddlin' and motherly nonsense. Just 'cause he's far from home don't mean he can come in here and cry a river into my pies. People come here for a good time, not to watch someone sob."

"At least he's sobbing silently..."

"Really? You too now Pie Boy?"

"Hey, sometimes we all need to sob. I personally applaud him for not trying to look all macho when he doesn't feel like it."

"You let your twin brothers sob like that then?"

"They're people, Emerson. People have hearts that hurt. And actually I would considering no one let me sob my heart out when I needed to."

" _Harrumph._ "

"Okay, here's one for you, one for me, and one for Scar."

"Oo! Looks yummy. Did you add sugar?"

"Yup. Made Scar one with some caramel too. I think he's bitter enough already."

"Good call. Hey Scar, look at what Olive made. It's all frothy and fluffy and look at all those adorable swirls on top. Yummy! ...Don't make me massage your back, come on... I'm getting up... I'm touching your back..."

"Olive, get me some triple berry a la mode before I snap all your backs."

"Gee whiz, I'm going to break my elbows massaging you."

"You can wait, Cod. Maybe our new buddy needs a tummy massage."

"Oh no."

"Nice. Wonderful. You sure he don't need somethin' with more of an, _ehem_ , _happy ending_?"

"EMERSON!"

"Ignore the sore thumbs. What are you thinking, Olive?"

"Maybe some pie would help."

"By 'some' you mean a binge with ice cream?"

"Hella!"

"Yes! Quick, bring him a little bit of each kind."

"On it."

"Woah woah woah, hey, do not give him one of everything. That is a waste. Olive!"

"This is a serious emotional crisis that requires binging, honey. I'll help you bake more."

"I'm not liking this. Not liking this at all."

The counter became a rainbow army of waiting golden-crusted delicacies once the Pie Waitress returned from her three trips.

"Look at all that yummy pie. Oh, and there's the bucket of ice cream: cool mint with chocolate chips... Come on, buddy, please try some. I promise it'll make you feel a little better."

"Chuck, I don't think forcing him is going to—"

"I'm not forcing him, I'm coaxing him. Which is your favorite pie? I promise Ned made it in heaven. We have apple pie, peach pie, rhubarb and blueberry/strawberry pie, persimmon pie, kiwi pie... No? Okay, um, how about pear or key lime or blueberry or triple berry or peach and apple with cheddar crust, or, or, some cup pies with honey crust?"

"Chuck..."

 _(Charlotte sighed.)_ "Can I at least see your eyes again if you're listening?"

He complied.

 _"Awww…"_

"Hey, lemme talk to him. You crying too isn't gonna make him feel any better."

"O-okay."

"Hey bud! Hi. You look like serious crap. I remember feelin' like you, heck I even looked worse than you, but you know what I did?" The Pie Waitress took his hand and closed it around his wafting cappuccino cup. "I tried to not let it be my bully. I don't have a home to go back to. And Chuck, she kinda can't go home just like you. Emerson and Ned don't act like it but they have a missing home too.

"Ya know what I say to that then? You're in real good company. We're all still alive, barely kickin' sometimes, but still alive. So raise that cup and take a sip. Join the kickers."

The girl who grew up with negligent parents and the one who could not return to hers raised their own cups for a sip. For a moment it seemed they had helped the fallen prince swallow his pain, but they set their joy down when he set his cup down.

"How 'bout you and Chuck help me with the orders then? It'll be a good distraction."

"Good idea. C'mon buddy, you can watch me do it a few times."

"He's not exactly in a professional mood. He could upset my customers."

"When are we ever? He'll be fine. I'll just...wipe away those tearstains, fluff back his hair, stick my little Pie Hole pin right here and _voilà_! Good as new. Let's go shove some exceptional customer service down everyone's throats."

"Meet you around. I'll whip up some coffee."

"...Mhm. This _exceptional_ customer service is comin' out of my throat already."

"What? Don't look at me like that, it's not my fault she's such a good person."

"Imma look at you all I want 'cause you made a compromise to keep him. Stranger is not some lonesome dove cooin' around that you could pick up and keep in a nice little cage."

"I know that—"

"Apparently you don't 'cause all you've been doing is tellin' her not to force not-snuggable-hyena into anything."

"Hyena?"

" _Yeahhh._ They're nature's finest actors, sniveling and sulking one minute and the next cacklin' like witches with their claws ready to scoop your eyes out."

"Well what do you want me to do then? Kick them both out?"

"Yes. Or at the very least pretend to be a passive aggressive leader of the pack for once."

"Umm, boys, have you seen that coat before?"

"Not now, Olive. Emerson and I are busy having a little domestic."

"There you go again making me look like I'm the bad guy for tellin' you the damn truth."

"Okay, first of all I am the leader of the pack who recognizes a non-threat when he sees one. Just because I'm not too fond of him doesn't mean I have the right to show that."

"Huh, that's funny. I'm recallin' the little fact that he somehow managed to turn a field upside down without flinching a muscle."

"Ned, around the corner—"

"So he has some phenomenal gift. He isn't the first. You could at least be a bit more human and not demonize a person so quickly when you don't understand him."

"Can I call 'im a bat then?"

"I'll compromise on raven only. Second of all, you are telling _your_ truth, not _the_ truth. If he sprouts claws and gouges anyone's eyes out I will be the first to—"

"Lily alert Lily alert!"

Emerson the Private Investigator and Ned the Pie Maker froze.

"Chuck!"

"Dive, woman!"

It was in the nick of time that Charlotte Charles dove indeed into her nearest safety. Lily Charles, her mother who believed Chuck had died months before, took the place by storm.

"Holy—"

"—Hell"

"—Heim."

"You are a horrible small business manager, Beaver Boy. What gives?"

Olive Snook, Emerson Cod, and Ned the Pie Maker whirled respectively. Charlotte Charles had found her hiding spot behind their Stranger on the left side of the Pie Hole. With her back against his and fingers clinging to strong black leather, she waited while Loki, being the wall hiding a reveal that would crush the mother's spirits, partially emerged from his spiritual exile at the unexpected development.

"I. Can't. Breathe."

"Whatever. You, Snook, get me a pear pie and some string cheese. We need'a talk."

"S-s-sure. Um. Here. But we don't have cheese, sorry."

"None?"

"We have tart apple with cheddar."

"Get me that one then. And hurry up... What you gawking at, Cod?"

"Just...choosing a pie here Miss Charles."

"Good. I'd go with the persimmon. Got a healthy color to it. Hey, Ned! Move your long legs. You've got other customers waiting."

"Um, um, right. I'll just...coffee..."

"Here ya go. Tart apple with cheddar."

"Finally! Took you long enough. Now listen, I need you to chat with Vivian's crush."

"Oh?"

"He's a greedy, heartless bastard trying to find Charlotte's watch for heavens knows why. If Vivian so much as tells him a clue I'm gonna rain down hellfire on everyone."

"Okay. What do you want me to chat about?"

"I don't know. Bring a pie and move that big mouth of yours. All I need to know is who the hell he is and what the hell he does. I'll finish him off."

"You're referring to chasing him off as 'finishing him off,' right?"

"Ha. Refer however you'd like."

"Ooh, _huhu_... Where's the interrogation going down?"

"My place at 4. Thanks for the pie. Got to go pick up Vivian's dress. If you see her don't tell her I was here."

"Gotcha."

"Beaver Boy, your apples are a bit overcooked... Who's this?"

"Uhhh... Potential employee."

"He's not in uniform."

"I was...interviewing him. My thoughts lean towards hiring."

"Looks a bit passive aggressive for this place, don't you think?"

"Yeah..."

"Huh, I like him. Y'all need some balance. Too damn bright in here half the time. I'll catch you later, kids."

With the confirming chime that the door had closed, the friends could breathe again.

"I feel like I just sprouted three hundred and ninety-two grey hairs."

"Oh yeah? I feel like throwing up my heart."

" _Ehem._ Right. Keep your ailin' bodies to yourselves. Smalls, get me my proper pie would you."

"Yeah...yeah. I'll do that."

"Chuck, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ned. Dizzy but okay. Thank you thank you thank you, Scar. You don't mind me holding your arm for a minute do you? Wow, I didn't see that coming."

"You two should just get back here in case. Scar can have his pie and you can recover from your momentary vertigo just in case your—"

The sound of the Pie Hole's doors opening again in an almost equal force of hurry stole their breaths.

"Ned, there you are. Where have you been?"

"Uh...Vivian."

"A simple hello would do, dear. Have you seen Lily?"

"He-ello. No. Why would we see Lily?"

"Because she had that scheming look about her last night after dinner. Anyways, may I chat with Olive for a moment?"

"Sure, sure, she's...somewhere."

"I'll just look for—Oh, well hello there. Is this a new hire, Ned?"

"I was—yeahhh, his name's Scar."

"Good to meet you, Scar. I am Vivian Charles; come here for bites quite often. Ned is a friend of the family. Are you a...theatre boy? You have a marvelous costume."

Loki the not-theatre-boy did not so much as pretend to be humored, which caused Vivian Charles to fumble into a social interaction fog.

"I think the proper thing to do next is give you a hug but I am not very sure. Are you a homeless youth if not in theatre?... Oh don't be offended, it is not a situation to be ashamed of. My niece Charlotte once had a darling of a friend in high school, a homeless girl whose name was Livia. She is still one of the strongest persons I have ever met. Point being: you can choose to let the fire refine you or the ashes define you, but I still feel I was horribly rude. Here."

To which Charlotte Charles barely contained a yelp and fell against the protection of their Stranger's legs covered by tattered, dangling green velvet and black leather while her aunt Vivian hugged he who remained as stringent as an arrow. The single factor that still hid the niece and daughter who was supposed to be dead was his unruly hair, making Aunt Vivian keep her eyes closed.

"Forgive my prodding, I had no right to ask. May I buy you a pie? I find Ned's pies lift all moods no matter how intense. I sure do hope you will hire him — Ned? Is something the matter?"

"I was - I - my hand's been twitching."

"I hope that is not a sign of developing carpal tunnel syndrome. You should be more careful when you're rolling out dough."

"Aaaand when I'm holding a pitcher full of coffee."

"I'm sure the coffee will forgive you for spilling it."

" _Ehem,_ Miss Charles?"

"Yes? Oh hello, Emerson! I didn't see you."

"Yeaaah, hi! Olive's feelin' a little under the weather today."

"Oh, the poor thing. I hope she will be alright."

"Yes ma'am, she will, once oxygen gets back to her brain."

"Pardon?"

"She's just having a very stressful day, Miss. Personal...matters."

"Alright. When she feels better then let her know I and my beau will be here tonight. (And that I have just the perfect pain medication.)"

"What?"

"It is a womanly matter, Mr. Cod."

"..."

"I'll tell her. Can I get you a pie?"

"No thank you, Ned. I will save my appetite for tonight. Anyhow, I still need to have my hair done. Have a good day! Nice to meet you, Scar. I hope to see your lovely self around."

When the door closed, their mouths hinged open. All eyes minus Olive Snook's looked to the still Charlotte. It was Ned that neared her breathing citadel made of epidermis and osseous matter not of their world.

"Chuck?"

He found her clinging to Stranger's costume extensions, appearing more than sick.

"Chuck, come on. Let me take you home." She did not stir. Ned dared to meet the eyes of her protector, but the unchanging coldness in those tourmaline blues froze him in place. With all the quiet grace of a guardian, Stranger turned and picked her up as if despite his lithe appearance, she weighed nothing more than a feather, which is quite the truth.

"I can take her," the Pie Maker protested, but Stranger continued towards the kitchen, where he tucked her in between a sunlit corner and the golden-hearted golden retriever named Digby. He took her trembling hands one by one and curled each finger around his own lukewarm cappuccino cup.

All Charlotte Charles could do was take a messy sip. It warmed her thus that she did not mind the sticky droplets dripping off her chin. Neither did her newest friend.

One minded it all and more. "I think it's time for us to close up. A lot has developed today."

"A lot meanin' Stranger stepped on your toes."

"No, a lot meaning he was the single thing keeping Chuck's aunts from seeing her... Okay, fine, and that too. Gosh, get off my toes!"

"As much as past me wants to say 'I told you so,' you can't close. Somethin's cookin'. That Dwight Dixon's makin' a move we need'a know more about."

"And we will once Olive comes back with gossip bites. End of story. I'm tired. Let's all go."

"You ever stopped to consider maybe she ain't goin' to find out anything we don't already know?"

"No, boss, because I have clocked out for the day. Goodbye, have fun drinking coffee from _another man's cup_ , all of you."

"You calm them piping chords, Jealous Johnson. You ain't makin' anything better by pouting about you not having the bigger balls here."

"Woah, woah, woah, rewind. What did you just—"

"Ned, Emerson's right."

"You're _agreeing_?"

"Yes, we need to plan something to learn even more than what Olive can."

"Right, good, okay… But listen, Olive's going to find out about Dwight when she takes a pie to your aunts' place, so much so that we won't have to worry another second about him. We are not going to do anything else. Besides that, are you okay?"

"I will be if you let us plot our own twists. Come on, honey, think about how behind we'll be if we don't have one and Olive doesn't learn much else."

"Hmm. I wanna say _dejavu_."

"Emerson's right about that part too. There, happy boss?"

"Very."

"Ouch... Okay, toes are moving, fingers bending, heart pumping. Okay."

"Hey Olive. Feeling better?"

"Never better. You?"

"Pretty great no thanks to Ned."

"Hold on, I—"

"Shut it, boy."

"Okaaaaay... Did Vivian leave?"

"Uh-hu. Now you shut it too or help our plotting."

"What're we plotting?"

"How to trick my Aunt Vivian and her date into spilling some beans."

"Huh, sounds trippy. My pops used to underhandedly interrogate people while playing poker."

"And there goes the lightbulb! Ned, the Pie Hole's having a game night tonight!"

"Ooo games! I love games."

"...I hate everything."

"No poker, I ain't feelin' like being a stand-in cop."

"What's another card game everyone knows?"

"Ruuuuuummy! Please say yes please say yes!"

"Olive, calm down. People are eating pie."

"Sorry."

"Rummy! Young and old folks can play. I used to play momma all the time."

"Reel it in, kids, this ain't no field trip. How we gonna get Dwight to talk?"

"Well, Olive will be serving, Ned managing, you and I will be hiding somewhere keeping tabs, which leaves us with... Scar? Are you up to helping me again? Please?"

"Hell to the Helheim no, Chuck."

"Why not?"

"Look. At. Him. One: we don't even know if he talks."

"He has an out of this world screaming voice actually."

"Fine then, two: none of us know who he really is."

"Says the one who hired him."

"I was improvising! See, this is why I don't improvise; it always blows up in my face."

"Do you have another argument point to add?"

"Actually, I do. Three: he glares at me like he is right now whenever you're not talking."

"Maybe he sees something about you we can't see, like just how useless your stubbornness is."

"Or maybe he's thinking about how to skewer all of us while we sleep."

"Woah. That escalated quickly..."

"Reel it back in the both of you. Jealous Johnson's turnin' into Paranoid Patrick, Pie Boy. And you, Clingy Cathy, calm them hormones. Now listen, this is what we're gonna do: Stranger's going to be a waiter with Olive so nothing'll be looking suspicious, Ned you'll be walking around like a normal manager, and I will play the cards. Dead girl, you'll hide somewhere. You bring a notepad and take notes. Everyone understand the game plan?... _What_ , Cathy?"

"Just a question. Can I work on decorations?"

"Does it look like I care? Bake special pies if you want to, I just wanna gut the truth out of that rat."

"Me too!"

"What, Olive?"

"Can me and Scar go get some card packs then?"

"Go birdwatching, take a flight to Alaska, get a room, I don't care. But you'd better be back before dinner."

"K. Come on, bud, it's adventure time!"

"And Ned will get into baking special pies, won't you honey?"

"I guess..."

"Still ain't sure, Johnson? Good. You can get me a cappuccino then."

"Haha, sucks for you Mr-I-Can't-Work-the-Cappuccino-Machine!"

"I need to stab something anyways..."

#

"So that is how I ended up working at the Pie Hole. From jockey to job to another until I landed smack-dab into the place I like to call home. Yup, that's my story. Do you wanna share? Sometimes it helps to take some pressure off your chest, you know?"

Though their Stranger walked of his own accordance and held his head higher than a 30-degree angle, his languid somberness made it clear that he did not wish to share.

"That's okay, nobody's ever going to force you to do something when you don't feel you can. Whenever you feel like you can share though, I will be right here. I mean not HERE here, as in at this obnoxiously giant Metropolitan Mall, but always somewhere around the Pie Hole ready to lend a shoulder if you're ready for it.

"Now that that's out of the way – it wasn't in the way by the way, that is just a rather rude figure of speech – would you fish out the decks we bought please?... Geez, how deep are your pockets in that costume?"

The flicker of a humored stare met hers, which made the Pie Waitresses's cheeks color into roses.

"Look at you! That was quite a little mischievous glance. Maybe soon I'll be catching you smiling, huh? Okay, so, one, two, three, four, _yada, yada_ , nine. Four of _Toy Story_ , three of _My Little Pony_ , and two of _Adventure Time_. Each was 99 sweet, spying cents! Now we just need, eh, ten more. We'll get them at Pop Topic. They have literally everything for fandoms. Which reminds me I need to get my hands on that new Loki T-Shirt.

"I know what you're thinking with that look: he's the bad guy, would turn you into dust before you could even talk, _blah blah_ , but for one second don't judge. He's my all-time favorite character because he's got problems, you know? He tries to make everyone happy even when he's not happy and he tries so hard but no one understands that and those two hard facts are more human than Captain America himself... My heart's all achy just thinking about the first time I saw the end of the first _Thor_ movie when I was, like, five. Imagine that. I was five but I understood the pain behind his devilish smile and cold, cold blue eyes. It must be so terrible to just want to let yourself die...to choose to die... Anyways, we fans of his are a select minority as you might be expecting, and by 'select minority' I mean there are thousands of us just quietly loving that little sarcastic, devious, achy-breaky brat. But aside from the cinema Loki, the new comics version is smoking, like, _smo_ king. K, now you can judge all you want.

"Scar? Where did you – oh, there you are. When did you stop walking?... Are-are you okay? You look like a cat slashed your vocal chords and you can't cry because you're too shocked. Do you need some hydration? I think the food court's right after this next...store. Oh. My. Goodness. Look at that! C'mon run! ...Oh thank you God for your blessings. Look at this, Scar! New and matching waiter and waitress outfits. Ha, are you my lucky charm or what? And, and—lemme just fix this shirt up against you here—holy smokes it fits! Do mine fit? Ahhhh mine do too!

"Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. I cannot believe this. Hey, sales chick!"

"Good afternoon and welcome to Sashay Uniforms."

"Yeah, yeah, hi. How much are these?"

"$60. Each set includes shirt, pants, and waiter or waitress skirt."

"Who designed them? There's no brand."

"There was a box of seven inside that we found in our delivery today. No name, address, number, anything. Stunning quality though, that's for sure."

"And the silk skirt! Oh my gosh. It feels just like Digby's cozy tail. Are orange and green the only colors it comes in?"

"Yes. Dress pants come in black only, dress shirt in light moss green, and the skirts in same green and lively orange asymmetrical stripes."

"This is just too good to be true. Scar, we're bringing sexy back! High five! ...You don't remember what that is? – Hehe, he was in a little car accident so he's kind of spacey."

"Riiiight... Will that be all?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Have a great day."

"Scar, I'm serious. Seriously! No, don't give me that look. I'm not joking _or_ crazy. We'll both wear this and it'll look so normal no one would know we're undercover... Don't tell me you thought I wouldn't be spying with you. I'll have you know I helped Chuck sabotage another business all with my epicness-ery. Yes, that's a word. Come on, imma pay and then we RUN run to get the rest of the decks. I'm doing your hair... Don't smolder, I ain't letting you go out there with your hair like a bird's nest."

And as the woman that was up to the middle of his chest grabbed his hand and ran like lightning across the glistening tiles once their new uniforms rested in a festive monochromatic shopping bag, Loki Odinson felt a faint shift in his frozen heart, but he pretended it was nothing more than adrenaline.

He could not, however, pretend the line stretching out of the fascinations store called Pop Topic did not surprise him.

"Darn it, they literally stocked the shirt two minutes ago! You stay here. Hold our bag. Things have to get ugly. I'll be right back.

"Excuse me..."

"Hey, stop pushing!"

"No, I need my baby's shirt."

"Lady, calm down."

"When you've been a fan for twenty years _then_ you tell me to calm the hell down."

"Oi, I was here first!"

"Good one, fledgling. Move!"

Acid burned Loki's frosted throat.

#

"Alright. I fixed all the decorations and lights. You have the pies ready?"

"In a minute. I'm baking the last batch right now."

"Joining!... Aww, look at your adorable flour nose."

"Haha, _very_ cute. I got it everywhere."

"Not a big deal. Pie Hole's closed with a fancy sign on top, so when you're ready we can clean this all up and then run on home to touch ourselves up."

 _"Mm?"_

"You look so much more innocent than you actually are."

"Mm-hm... I'll start cleaning up."

"Ned, you know I do love you, right?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Because I say the wrong things, meaning I don't tell you that often enough."

"Chuck, we talked about this. Four times. If anyone should get the blame for earlier then it's me and my raging jealousy. After all, you and Emerson are right. This is a much more solid plan of interrogation than Olive on her lonesome. I don't trust that guy with any of my friends."

"There's so much more I want to talk about, but I just want to tell you that I love you."

"I love you too. Speaking of other things, would you mind heading home now?"

"Course not. What do you need?"

"Bring over my record player and a Secret Garden vinyl or two. I want to set that up too. You can change while you're there."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

"Oh and bring Digby a bow tie too!"

"Will do!"

That was how Charlotte Charles found herself star-struck in her and the Pie Maker's own home. There, I'm the midst of tossed, dusty, rustic clothes stood her breathing fortress.

"My my..."

"Hey Chuck! How do you like it? We got a matching mysterious pair from the mall. Scar, could you lean back a little bit? I need'a clip in some flying strands. Thank you!"

"...Wow. I don't even know what to say."

"I know, right! It's like this thing was _made_ for him or something. Okay bud, stand up straight like you're ready to be James Bond... He's a super secret spy. There you go! Lemme take a step back and – _Wowza_ , you shine like a new penny."

"Oo, he came so close to smiling at that."

"He'll smile real soon. I warned him already, and it is now on my prayer list. You two keep each other company. I've got to finish getting ready too. Holler if he smiles!"

"I will! You tell me if you need help with hair... Wow, I'm sorry for staring, buddy, it's just I was not expecting – I mean wasn't prepared for you to look like, like, what's the word? I think I'm trying to say 'prince'. The messy man bun though, now that just makes you look like a handsome hipster. All you need is nerd glasses.

"Oookay, back to getting our machinations ready. Where's Ned's vinyl player?... Oh, there it is, nice and covered. Just blow off some dust – _muy bonita_! Could you hold it please? Thank you. Now to find the vinyls. You know my Momma, Aunt Lily, she had all these classical ones playing all the time I didn't know other genres of music existed—oh, here they are. Secret Garden, Secret Garden... Bingo. Two should do.

"Anyways, the first time I found his player and let it play I was so shocked to hear popular music blaring from it. Haha! Ned told me I made quite a face. Ahh, so many good memories with my aunts."

Though he said not a word, Chuck combed out the question lingering like a nervous tick behind the prince's halcyon eyes.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation to what happened earlier, don't I? Here, sit. Would you like some flavored sparkling water? It's a pretty long story... Well, well, aren't you modest. I'm pouring you some anyways.

"Here you go. Yeah, just set that on the table. We'll take it down to the Pie Hole together. Now let me think. Where to start?... Ned and I were neighbors when we were kids. We both had a puppy crush on each other. We'd play our games, sell lemonade, draw on walls, smear makeup all over our faces, everything. Then one day Ned's mom and my dad died. That's a story for another day. My aunts Lily and Vivian took me in; Ned's dad picked him up.

"Time went on and we never saw each other again, he at the boarding school his dad left him at and me taking care of my shut-in aunts... Then I decided I wanted to go on an adventure – Tahitian getaway. It was a shady traveling agency. I ended up strangled to death, floating in the ocean... Isn't that funny? The first time I did something for myself, I died because of it. First times are so misfortunate. I don't know, maybe it's my curse... Anyways, Ned and Emerson were hired to solve my death, and Ned touched me back to life to ask what happened.

"He let me live longer than a minute, so someone else died. We planned out my funeral, nailed the guy who killed me for two bricks of gold, and went on living together, but my aunts don't know. We can't tell them or Ned's gift—Olive doesn't even know about it—could get him locked inside some CIA experimental chamber..."

 _(She sighed.)_

"I miss my aunts, more than words can say, but I love him. We can't touch or I die again forever, but we have a hearty love; we've figured things out. The least I owe him is to keep his gift close to base – he gave me a second chance at life after all. I suppose I figured I could tell you because you're not much of a stranger to magic. I know that much for sure... You've already spotted something different about Ned haven't you?"

Loki Odinson's lips curved to one side, at once warm like a soul tipsy on compassion, and cold like a mind fixated on calculating impossible possibilities. His finger of living ivory pointed to her.

"Me? I don't... Oh, you mean there's something different about _me_?"

He nodded, the impossible possibility calculated thanks to her spilling the value for one of too many missing variables.

"What about Digby? Do we have some sort of aura?... Our eyes? What about them?—"

"K buddies, I'm ready! How do I look?"

"Lovely, Olive. I'm kind of jealous I can't wear one of those uniforms."

"Don't be. I picked out a little black dress for you. You'll look beautiful in your note-taking shadows. Now c'mon, let's finish you up too."

"Yes, ma'am! Scar, would you look for a bow tie for Digby while we finish?"

And as Charlotte Charles followed Olive, she felt her heart shutter in ache. She squeezed her hands and turned to catch sight of her Fortress, lest he fade into the twilight winds of memory a few hours too soon.

#

"Olive! What a surprise. Come in, come in."

"Thanks! Evening Vivian, Lily, sir. Isn't the weather just so beautiful tonight?"

"Yes it is. Dwight still wants me to wear a jacket though."

"Of course, sugar, I wouldn't want that porcelain beauty of yours to shiver. It would break my heart."

"Hush now, you're making me blush."

" _Oh brother._ Big mouth, where's the pie I ordered? I need'a wash down the vomit with something other than vodka."

"Yeah, about that, I wanted to—"

"What a lovely uniform, Olive dear. Is there something special happening at the Pie Hole?"

"I was just about to tell you, yeah. I wanted to personally hop on over and invite you all to a very special night. Ned and I baked tons of special pies and prepped the whole place for a game night."

"That sounds swell; don't you think my little mackerel? Let's get a move on. Ned makes the best pies in town."

"Yes, let's. Lily, will you be coming too?"

"I'd rather die drowning."

"Suit yourself, then. See you soon my Olive."

Once the two lovebirds left, Aunt Lily rose. "I told you to bring pie and move that mouth of yours, kid! What gives?"

"Okay, okay, calm down and listen."

"Calm down. Calm down?! I'm a marble Madonna about to explode. Didn't I tell you something's off about that man and that I'm terrified Vivian's gonna be wrecked because of him, yet here you are telling me to calm down."

"Lily; Ned, Emerson, Scar and I set this whole thing up for you. Please don't explode."

"What thing?"

"Card game night."

"You said it was a 'game night' without the cards part ten seconds ago."

"Yeah, because I needed them to go. Anyways, Emerson will do most of the talking, but me and Scar are gonna make some beans spill too. If you come, then you can help us dig out what you wanna know."

"Scar's a part of this too now?"

"Trust me, you can trust him."

"Hmm... We playing poker?"

"Rummy."

"Boring. What's with the new uniform?"

"Let's just say it's a fancy night at the Pie Hole. Fancy lights and music and everything."

"...I guess it's not the _worst_ plan I've ever seen. Let's go."

"Aren't you gonna change?"

"Nah. I have a sucker to stab. Don't need to look pretty for that."

#

" _Psst,_ Pie Boy! Yeah you, get over here."

"Emerson, I _just_ filled your third—"

"Shh. Where's dead girl?"

"About that..."

"You tellin' me you don't know?"

"She came back with Scar so I went to change and when I came back she wasn't here. I swear I'm looking for her."

"Sometimes I really wanna scratch your faces off."

"Why don't you ask Scar, huh?"

"I'd rather steal a bear's cub."

"I told you all this was a terrible, terrible idea but—"

"Shh! There she is. Go get 'er under a table. March, kid!"

"Okay, okay. _Stay calm, stay calm, walk calm, don't run, don't spill…_ Chuck, where were you?"

"I had to finish something — don't ask, doesn't matter, sorry anyways. Just help me hide. Vivian and Dwight just parked."

And so it was that not another moment later, Charlotte Charles faded into her first hiding spot.

If a human could die from anxiety, then she believed she would be the first martyr. From where she hid underneath a table that held a massive bouquet of green, blue, and red origami roses she had made for the spying occasion and extra decks of cards, she watched her aunts and Dwight Dixon follow Olive through the bright doors and to a table. Then she watched the Pie Maker recite the euphonic speech he had penned for the night.

It was only after the table had ordered their pies that she realized her anxiety had bled away. The curtain veiling her breathing body assumed position again now that Chuck released it to. She spied her Fortress' shinning dress boots halting next to her hiding place.

"Scar! Pretend to drop something." That he did. She unveiled herself for his placid eyes alone. "Listen, I need you to not say hi to them as long as you can. Unless one of my aunts waves to you, don't look at them. Try to hang around Dwight if he goes anywhere, got it?"

He did. It was twenty-seven minutes and thirty-nine successful incognito/serving seconds later that Aunt Vivian summoned him with a bubbling moment of social confidence brought on by her thriving - she believed - relationship.

"My oh my, you are something else tonight, dear. Dwight, Lily, this is Scar. He is the new enigmatic, winsome hire."

"Ah, nice to make your acquaintance, kiddo. Interesting name you have there. Is it your real one?"

His enigmatically winsome gaze caught Aunt Lily's discreet, scheming wink. He trailed her tapping fingers to her not-at-all-full coffee cup. "Charming, I'm sure, but I'm afraid the _kiddo_ has work to do. Game night is buzzing. Why don't we go play some too?"

To which the undercover Asgardian waiter snapped behind his back as he filled Lily's cup, which Ned the Pie Maker noticed and nodded to Emerson that it was time for him to drift to the playing tables, who then high-fived the passing Olive, which told Charlotte Charles to jump inside the draped table of special pies the waitress then rolled right between the first play table and chocolate fountain, where the Lonely Tourist settled into her final hiding spot.

"Huh, I thought you said it was game night, Miss Snook."

"It is. Card games are the best games IMHO. Anyone up to some pecan pie? It's TDF, especially with some chocolate drizzle."

"Goodness, I fear if I eat one more slice I'll never get out of this dress again."

"Which would not be a terrible thing, my little mackerel."

"Let's play some rummy before I choke on my own bile... Cod; uncanny seeing you here."

"Hello Emerson!"

"Lily, Vivian, nice to see you two again. I take it this is the beau?"

"Oh yes, the one and only. You haven't met him yet have you? Darling, this is our friend Emerson Cod. He is a business associate of Ned's."

"Aha, wonderful to know your name, chipper. I've seen you 'round here. As well as that one other young lady I don't see here now."

"There is another employee? Olive, you never told us."

"She…is..."

"Of course there's another employee you buck heads. Every proper business has another person as backup in case of schedule emergencies. Now could we start playing the game? You've shuffled our deck enough, Cod."

"Yes, Miss Charles. There's seven for you, you, you, and me. Stock pile set, face card up."

"Ooo, Jack of all Trades. How climactic!"

"Quite. Dwight, why don't you make a move after me? Olive, drizzle a slice for me would you?"

"'Course."

"Don't mind if I do. There, five of hearts. Your turn, darling."

"Hmm... I think I'll put down...wait, that will not work."

"So where are you from, Mr. Dixon?"

"A bit of everywhere, but mostly from the Southwest. You?"

"A bit of everywhere too, but mostly from here. You enjoyin' Papen and Coeurs De Coeurs?"

"I am. They've got a quaint little façade but some of the most gut-wrenching mysteries I've ever seen. It's wild really."

"I agree with you there."

"Darling, I'd junk pile your diamond queen."

"Thank you, dear. Your turn, Lily."

"Buch'a cheaters... There. I ain't narrating."

"So a little billboard told me you solve murders."

"I do. How 'bout you?"

"I don't solve them; I _make_ them… I'm kidding! Horrible joke, but uh, I couldn't resist myself. Anywho, I'm not doing much of anything. Just searching for something special to me."

"Heirloom? - Thanks, Olive."

"Not so much. It was more like an award for a job well done back in the day."

"Pretty important award I take it."

"Yes siree. I wouldn't have it any other way. Here, pick up my five of hearts on your next turn, darling."

"You are too sweet."

"So when's the wedding, _Dixon_?"

"...Wedding?"

"You take my seven of hearts too, sis. And yeah, wedding. You love her, don't you?"

"Lily, I think it's too early to—"

"No, no, I don't mind her asking, dear. Yes of course I love her. Why? Are you planning on stealing me the second I put a ring on her finger?"

"Ha. Not even in your wildest dreams."

"But you wouldn't leave me. You wouldn't. Right, darling?"

"Pfft, of course not, sugarplum."

"See, you say that, _pal_ , but when you find your damn _awards_? Poof! Close the curtains, dim the lights: Dwight Dixon was never here."

"Three of diamonds. I think you'd better watch out, cocktail. I've got a lucky hand."

"Yeah? So do I cause I can see straight through your disgusting lies. Straight of spades - RUMMY! You'd better damn run before they impale your little boyfriend costume."

And before the forthcoming dialogue fled from Dwight Dixon's lips, Emerson Cod held one of his cards up to catch the precise angle of refraction brought on by the red, blue, and green lights circling above, which momentarily blinded Ned the Pie Maker in an incapacitating sea of colors, who then rerouted to pass by with a smorgasbord of pies balancing in his arms. He then winked to Olive the Pie Waitress so that she would walk along with a bowl of to-be-melted chocolate for the chocolate fountain, who then pinched the lean muscles of Loki Odinson's chair-moving arms so he would add more to the second game table perpendicular to the seething climax:

"I don't need to run. I already know where my treasure isn't."

Pies fell from the unsteady arms of the Pie Maker, Hershey Kisses flew from the Pie Waitresses' bowl, shuffling cards soared into the horrified air from the P.I.'s tense hands, and two particular sections of the velvet tablecloth covering the table holding the serene chocolate fountain folded in on themselves.

That was not all. While inside an emotional limbo somewhere around the claws of offense and the paws of destructive fret, the Asgardian/Jotnar nose sniffed a new whiff and irises spotted a not red, blue, or green light. First came the acrid smell, then the flash of a micro-sized firecracker, but in a blink both dissolved into warm pecan pies and beautiful origami decorations.

He searched over the mess of his humans to find nothing more but a customer shuffling her own mint deck of cards and an older gentleman with a fedora and eyes like the Pie Maker. Time would not stop, however, not even for a god to solve a mystery before its own time.

"Tell me, Cod, that woman who isn't here spying, is she another of Ned's _business_ associates?"

"Spying? What in the world are you talking about, darling?"

"Never mind. So Mr. P.I., you up to another game? Or maybe Lily?"

"Shove it down your throat. I hope you choke, monster."

The turbulent irises of the lioness named Aunt Lily fleeing haunted four souls that night, but none could compare to the grueling heart-wrenching caused by the trembling waterfalls of the chocolate fountain in a prince far from home.

It was still late into twilight that our wide-awake heroes congregated in the marrow of the slumbering Pie Hole about the aftermath.

"Did you miss the part where he said he dug up her casket? Her _casket_. You understand that, Pie Boy?"

"Why don't you say that again? Make it fifty times and it might just stick to the pink mashed potatoes that is my brain."

"Don't you start bein' sassy right now. You understand what he said or not?"

"Emerson, I get it! I got it when he said it. All I'm trying to do is get us to calm the hell down so we can think this through."

"Think?! Ned, my momma knows what he did. He knows I'm alive. _He knows I'm me._ Now is not the time to stand here and think. This is emergency mode."

"Let's look at our little problem though another significant POV. What're we gonna do if said Miss Charles decides to visit her grave tonight? Come on, put your thinking hat on."

"I don't know. There's nothing I can say."

"I do: Oh Lord have mercy."

"Okay, Olive, Emerson, and Chuck, all three of you shut it. Just...just stop talking. Pick up a rag or something, and let's all help Scar clean this place up."

"Ned, that's not going to help anything. Now is not—"

"Yes it is. Now is when we'll let our adrenaline settle and then we'll think of something together, okay?"

A chorus of mumbles did not agree, but still the three whose cortisol levels were heart-attack ready snatched whatever was closest to join the prince. It was Chuck in particular who grabbed the second of three mops to be near his peace, or so she believed.

If there was anything to learn in the silence of thinning adrenaline and soap suds, it was not of a plan to counter Dwight Dixon, but that Loki Odinson was anything but in peace.

Three hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty-seven seconds later, he dropped on top of his (Chuck's) bed, but before he could descend into his mind palace to concoct how he could leave without hurting the two hearts that cared for him, the sound of construction paper fussing snatched him away.

His albumen, ashy fingers picked up the lotus flower made of intricately folded papers. A skirt of green surrounded the citrus orange flower.

"What is this?" he asked the Midgardian air while twirling it over and over. On the fourth twirl, a leaflet of white paper fluttered onto Chuck's sheets which he waited not a moment to unfold.

 _Dear Scar,_

 _I've been sad. Sad because I have the gut feeling that you'll leave tonight. You'd think I wouldn't hold you so dear as a friend this early since you haven't even said a peep, but I don't know, I just really wish you'll still be here tomorrow. I don't have anything deep to tell you other than thank you and that I'll miss you so much if you leave...but I hope it's enough._

 _Your friend, Chuck._

 _P.S. pull the string in the back of the lotus up and towards you._

He did. The beautiful sunset oranges opened to reveal beaming sunshine yellow. She had given him a living paper flower and words of milk and honey.

It was in that overwhelmed emotional rush that his eyes met the clothes Olive Snook had gotten for him, which had morphed into two free and beautiful outfits, one of which he wore that very moment.

And it was in the vein of that emotion that he remembered the cards that smelled like sour ashes - the flicker of light, the peculiar man whom he didn't know was the Pie Maker's father yet, the red-headed mother of Chuck meeting his gaze with one he wished he could not understand.

His mortals, they truly needed him. Loki, he had to die.

Thus it was that with a slash from the ragged dagger he'd stashed underneath pillows that he watched locks trapped in the smell of a broken soul flutter to the ground between his feet. And he did feel something burn.

With another slash, he realized from where it came.

His heart.

It had a beat again.


End file.
